


Capped

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 14:22:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3329468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bofur stays up for the show, during which Bilbo is a naughty hobbit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Capped

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cana_Puff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cana_Puff/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Bilbo has a thing for Bofur. And a thing for Bofur's hat. So when it falls off while Bofur is asleep, Bilbo fucks his hat, in secret. Either Bofur finds out afterwards, or he knows secretly beforehand, and is weirdly turned on by it” prompt on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/11476.html?thread=22842580#t22842580).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

When they all settle down to sleep, crammed up inside the cave, Bofur is sure to corner Bilbo. He picks a spot near the back with only enough space for one sleeping bag between his and the wall, which, of course, Bilbo settles into. Then Bofur makes sure to face that hobbit nest, and, for the final touch, he tilts his head just enough that his hat topples off when he settles down on his arms like pillows. 

Next, he waits, pretending to sleep, while the rest of their company slip off all around him. After a hard day’s journey, coupled with all the hardships of the previous days, most of the dwarves are out like candles. It’s a struggle for Bofur to stay up, but he knows it’ll be worth it. 

It’s quite a while before anything happens. It could just be that his anticipation is making the wait longer, or Bilbo could be choosing caution, or perhaps Bilbo is reconsidering the actions he does each night he gets the chance. That’s the most likely, and Bofur wonders, not for the first time, if he should’ve said something by now. Perhaps he should admit that he _knows._ But then it might stop, and he’s not sure he’s willing to take that chance. This is one of those bizarre, rare things that Bofur isn’t likely to ever experience again his lifetime, assuming, of course, that all hobbits don’t share Bilbo’s rather odd predilections.

Eventually, old habits win out. There’s a slight rustling in front of him, barely noticeable over the loud snoring of Bombur behind him. Then his hat is tugged gently out from under him, and Bofur grunts as he moves to accommodate, never once opening his eyes. After a few minutes of Bofur’s feigned sleep, the hat is tugged across the cave floor, and he can hear the familiar shuffling of fabric rearranging. He hears the slight elevation in Bilbo’s breath, and then an ever so quiet, languid _moan_.

The patterned sounds of thrusting starts, the sleeping bag dragging across the coarse ground. Bilbo’s breath comes harder, more ragged, hitches once, then again, and Bofur risks opening one eye just a crack. Bilbo’s body is mostly obscured in the darkness, but there’s just enough starlight to see that his long lashes are against his pink cheeks, his curly hair a mess across his forehead, and his lips round and parted. He gasps, then shoots one hand up to cover his mouth. With his fingers clamped tightly around his cheek, his palm stifles each of his sensuous noises. His other arm is pressing tautly down his stomach, holding Bofur’s hat firmly against his crotch. 

It’s a struggle for Bofur not to make his own noises. Through half lidded eyes, he watches the erratic motion of Bilbo’s little hips, his body arching forward to thrust and grind into the furry insides of Bofur’s hat. Bilbo’s knuckles are nearly white where they’re squeezed around the brim, and one of the floppy sides rests against Bilbo’s belly. Bofur can’t quite tell if his pants are open, but it doesn’t matter. Even fully clothed, Bilbo Baggins is undeniably _fucking_ Bofur’s hat, and that might just be the most depraved thing Bofur’s ever seen in his whole life. 

The strangest thing, though, is that he’s weirdly _turned on_ by it. He knew, from complete luck a few nights ago, that this debauchery was going on, but at first, he was too shocked to say anything. Then the thought rested in him and grew, each time he looked at the little halfling in the daylight, worse when they laid next to one another at night, and now, seeing Bilbo in the throes of his own passion, Bofur finds himself growing hot. He wants to squirm and squeeze his thighs around his cock, but he doesn’t dare move for fear of breaking the spell. Bilbo is completely lost in his own business, whimpering beautifully against his hand as he bucks against the bundled fabric. For one dizzying moment, Bofur wonders if it’s the hat Bilbo really wants, or if he’d rather be humping _Bofur_. Maybe the hat is just a symbol for the dwarf who wears it, or perhaps Bilbo, Mr. Proper, has a thing for nicely tailored, silk-soft clothes, or perhaps he’s just a dirty little burglar who can’t help himself from humping everything like a dog. 

Every one of those appeals to Bofur. The more he watches Bilbo, the harder he gets, and he can see Bilbo getting close. Bilbo’s speed picks up, his wines leaking around his palm, and he writhes in place, shivering deliciously. His eyes stay closed, his cheeks almost crimson. His eyebrows are knit together in the middle, and overall he just looks generally _ashamed_ , which leads Bofur to decide that this isn’t some strange hobbit kink—Mr. Baggins really is just a filthy thing. 

That makes Bofur all the hungrier. When he finally breaks, groans in want, he’s lucky—Bilbo suddenly screams into his hand, curling in on himself and completely missing Bofur’s slip. He presses the hat tightly against himself and reverts to long, slow grinds, while his whole body stiffens. Only a second later, he’s trembling, and he pulls his hand away from his mouth to release one pathetic sob. 

His grip loosens on the hat, and it falls away to show the front of his pants, still done up but stained. The wet patch is still growing as Bofur stares at it. Then another sob tears his eyes away, and he looks back at Bilbo’s face, horribly swamped in guilt and the beginnings of tears around his eyes. 

Suddenly, the secret show isn’t worth it anymore. Bofur, without even thinking, shifts one hand out from under his head, and he reaches to place it on Bilbo’s. Bilbo immediately stiffens, his eyes shooting wide open and his throat letting out a hoarse gasp. 

But Bofur only smiles. He tries to put all of his warmth on his face, and he squeezes Bilbo’s hand. He still doesn’t know if Bilbo actually wants _him_ , but it seems worth the risk, and he whispers bluntly, “I don’t mind.”

For a few seconds, Bilbo searches his eyes. The poor hobbit is still trembling, but eventually he manages to pick the hat back out and offer it sheepishly to Bofur. Bofur sits up on his elbow just enough to stuff the hat back onto his head, then lowers back down. 

He shuffles forward, like offering to snuggle, and Bilbo lunges to latch around his waist so tight that even Dori and Dwalin probably wouldn’t be able to tear him off.


End file.
